I'm growing up! My bags have been packed, I've been making multiple trips back and forth, the clean up and set up has been completed. Now, I'm settled into my new home over at :

Bathtime is definitely a highlight in our house and a must-get-to attraction whenever we travel out of country. Water restrictions don't weigh on my mind and I don't have to clean up the water spots afterwards (not that I have to clean at home, anyway, I know! Don't ruin the illusion with all your technicalities!)


The presidential suite in paradise was amazing. It had everything I wanted and more: a huge dining room table perfect for playing games and eating our room service meals in style (rather than huddled up on the bed, trying not to smear ketchup on the duvet while watching trashy tv). We also enjoyed the glorious soaker tub with a beautiful view of the golf course (there really is nothing like pooping on the pot and watching someone tee off). One of the first nights in luxury, Charlie and Lola begged me to have a bath. How often does that happen, hey? Children begging for a bath! Actually, if I'm going to be honest, I use baths as a reward. They have their scheduled semiweekly bathtimes, but there could be extra times if they clean their room, eat their food quickly, leave mommy along for just one freaking second so she can read about what Tara Reid is up to in her train wreck life. You know, those regular incentive moments. This time, with no water shortage to nag at my conscience, I filled that tub quite few times, happily and guilt free. The first time that Charlie and Lola asked for a bubble bath, I didn't really know how much bath gel to use. I've never had a tub with jets before! So I pressed a whole complimentary size bath gel tube until it was dry into the tub. At first, the bubbles were delightful, but once I got the jets going, they became a bit "Attack of the Bubbles"ish.

The kids had a great time, making themselves into snowmen and "dressing themselves up" in the latest bubble fashion. I neglected to open the drain when the two of them got out (it's a bit distracting trying to dress two exhausted children into their night clothes and then attempting to convince them that combing their hair before morning is a wise decision - plus Tara Reid is Back. On. The. Television again! What is with this girl? She's made one movie. I swear.) so when I woke up the next morning, the bubbles had deflated and I was able to see that my perception of a "full tub" was slightly skewed by the fluffiness. The water level was barely above the jets - about 10 inches. Apparently my water conserving ways kick in whether I want them to or not! Hopefully the bubbles had exfoliating properties because the kids sure didn't do any soaking in the soaker tub.

Coco Cola has been banned!


Did you hear me, y'all? Banned!

For the last three weeks, we have been searching every store in the city for Coca Cola to no avail. After leaving empty handed time after time, we finally settled for Coca Cola Zero. Slowly, but surely, this product, too, has been disappearing from the shelves without replenishment. All that is left for purchase now is Coca Cola Light. It was a huge mystery until last weekend when we went out with some friends and saw a poster hanging in a cafe. It was "Don't buy these products!" propaganda designed to hurt those companies that are supposedly helping the cause of Israel. I'm sure they are really feeling the pain of us not buying anything Coca Cola, even though we are still able to buy other Coca Cola Company products like Sprite. It doesn't really make sense, and actually in the end it hurts me more than it hampers the plans of Israel. All I want is a cold full octane Coca Cola on ice. I want all the sugar. I want all the caffeine. I'm being deprived! They are hurting me! I want my Coca Cola back!

Leave it to me to turn a country's response to another country's decisions in war into a personal matter. But, do you know what? When you take away one of my final vices (it's not like I can find a cold beer or a nice bottle of wine at the local shop) have no other choice than to take it personally. There is a serious justice issue at hand.

I'm an idiot. A big fat doh doh head.

Lola's birthday is coming up on the 26th. She will be 4 years old. My husband and I have always had the rule "You can invite as many guests as the age you are turning." We've been really good at strictly adhering to that rule, but this year has been a year of breaking old convictions. Charlie's birthday was in February and he had 10 friends over, even though he was turning 8. Two over the limit is fine.

But 41?

Okay, fine, 43?

Oh yes, you read that correctly. I have committed the unthinkable by blindly inviting people always thinking, "What's another 3 to the list?" Apparently, another 3 over a period of time adds up to 47. FORTY SEVEN!

Granted, the entire number is not exclusively children. I invited the mothers of the children because I figured that 4 is still young enough an age that the children wouldn't want to be dropped off at a stranger's home for a few hours without mommy - not even taking in account the fact that our family is uber-strange in the culture department. I think in total, close to 30 children have been invited and then there are 19 mothers. I can't really remember the exact breakdown, but at this point, would accuracy really change anything? It would still be madness.

My husband had already planned to be out of the house because it is a women's party and in order for my female guests to feel comfortable enough to deveil and dewrap, I must assure them that my husband is not on the premises. When I told him about my slight miscalculation and lack of wisdom, he said, "Wow. Well, I won't be here, so I don't really care. I am going to roll up the center carpet in the living room, though."

So this past weekend, I wrapped up sambosa upon sambosa upon sambosas and made a cake. I only have about 6 more cakes to make and some other savoury dishes. Thankfully, I left myself a LOT of time to prepare and other than finding something for the kids to do, I think I might actually be able to pull it off! I have looked into renting extra tables for food. I have arranged with Blessing for one of her friends to come and work for me for one day. Besides helping me with preparations, I will ask her to take care of the filling of trays and making of tea, which really is the biggest stressor during a party. I can handle making things ahead of time, but the constant tending to the refreshments can be exhausting. I would like to have the chance to visit with the guests, which really was the motivation behind inviting everyone. Mornings are always so busy and hectic, I rarely get the chance to meet other mothers of the kindergarten class. I'm hoping with some good planning and setting up a support crew during the party, I will be able to make some new friends and throw a great party.

The complication is that there are so many children. Generally, parties take place between the hours of 4 and 6 p.m. People like to pray in their own homes and the time of prayer that is quite strict on praying exactly on time is the prayer around 6 p.m. (the exact time adjusts with the sun) because the next prayer time is only an hour later. There isn't much time inbetween the two to dilly dally. So what I'm trying to say here is that, likely, the party will only last for 2 hours. From 4 until 6, with a few stragglers hanging on until 7 or 8. With so many children, organized games and such would be a real hassle. I'm thinking that we have a fabulous garden, the children will be able to entertain themselves outside, and barring that, I can have a movie set up in the other room that they can pop in and out of at will. At about 5 p.m. will be the candle blowing tradition of the cake, and then following that, I was thinking of doing a "fishing" game where each child "fishes" by throwing a line over a hung blanket and they "catch" a prize. This will take a considerable amount of time with each child taking a turn. If we do this after the cake "ceremony" at 5 it will take until close to 6 just for that part of the party, which means that they would really only have 1 hour of free play time before that. Am I being delusional in my break down of events or does that sound reasonable? I'm wondering if I should plan for another activity. And if so, what would that activity be?

Drinking doesn't count because a) they are underage b) alcohol is forbidden here and c) the slight stash that I have (shh! Don't tell!) I will not be sharing freely. That activity will by solely mine at around 9:30 that night. I'll deserve it by then, I'm sure.

That is, if I haven't passed out already by then from party psychosis and exhaustion. I am, seriously, my own worst enemy.

What was I thinking?????

Comments have been enabled. Being a lover of the limelight myself, I know that writing a comment is more about how witty I can be in a comment than about stroking the author's ego. In that spirit, I have opened up the comments with one catch: I have to approve the comments first so I have robbed you of a certain aspect of instant gratification, like the "instant" part.

I love the interaction that can happen in the comments section among the readership and I'm hoping that at some point I'll have more than 13 readers who will develop some entertaining banter.

So go on! Click on the comment link and dazzle me with your wit!

Sidebar: don't miss out on the previously published post for today "Mmm... Tastes Nutty" You'll regret it if you miss it. Or you might regret it if you don't.

UPDATE: I'm not sure why, exactly, but the comments are not working. I have tried everything, saved the changes and, yet, the comments option is not showing up at the bottom of the post. Maybe it needs a couple of days and a cup of coffee before the system updates. I'm really sorry. I'll keep working on it. Think of it as delayed gratification. One day you will get a surprise! You are SO lucky!

The island we were staying on belongs to the country of Indonesia. There is a delicacy available that is expressly unique to this region: Kopi Luwak coffee. It's a rare coffee - only 1,000 pounds of it are release to the worldwide market - and very expensive - anywhere from $120 to to $600 USD per pound. The truly unique aspect of the process that the coffee beans go through has to do with the digestive tract of a certain jungle cat, the Asian Palm Civet, or luwak. The luwak eats the coffee berries, leaving the beans inside the berries undigested. Some sort of enzyme or magic dust in the luwak's system affects the taste of the bean, namely the bitterness that can result in the coffee. The luwak passes the beans in its excrement and some lucky person gets to sift through the turds for "treasure". The beans are then cleaned, and lightly roasted so that the delicate taste is not scorched.

Man roasting kopi luwak beans

Courageous and adventurous, we decided that it was absolutely necessary to try this coffee in the very land of its origin. The price was definitely much cheaper than in other areas of the world. I have heard of a cafe in Australia that sells this coffee for $50 per cup. They sell approximately 4 cups per week. We payed $20 for 2 cups - $10 each. Still a hefty price when compared to non-poop coffee, but a much more affordable than down under (*snicker*).

We tried to rope a few others into being part of our adventure. Selling the outing with the phrase, "We are going to drink poop coffee," I'm really surprised that we only managed to convince 5 others to join us.

Blessing, my house help lady, makes a MEAN cup of coffee. I have had several cups of coffee made by her hand, a rigorous process of re-pouring the coffee upwards of 7 times. Culturally, if you don't say, "This is GOOD coffee" upon your first sip, the hostess will go back to the kitchen and re-pour the coffee another 7 times because "it must not have been very good." Personally, upon tasting the first sip of Blessing's coffee, I get chills and I lean back in my chair, eyes closed, savouring every nuance of taste as it rolls across my tongue. Knowing that this experience with coffee is possible, I was really expecting to have a similar sensation for $10/cup.

Obviously, by my tone, I was disappointed. The taste wasn't smooth. After a few sips, my tongue began to tingle and become sort of numb. The after effect was a SUPER high. My voice was elevated more than slightly and I felt a bit dizzy. What goes up, must come down. The crash was swift and devastating. One of the people in our crew felt like throwing up. We all felt a bit ill.

All in all, it was a weird experience. We went to a coffee plantation and saw a luwak sleeping in a tree. The plantation's store had kopi luwak coffee for sale - $50 for 100g. I was not even close to being tempted to purchase it. There are definitely some things in life that are better when freely given - love and Blessing's coffee being two prime examples.

The luwak dreaming of making as much money off of his poop as the humans do

It's become a pop culture cliche, but kids truly do say the darndest things and the most @%*& darndest times.

Some of our friends came to visit two days ago in order to vent, cry, and gnash our teeth over learning Arabic. That day, our lesson had taken a very different turn (perhaps slightly manipulated by the students in the class *cough*). The vocabulary list became a lot darker and, well, more a list of curse words and inappropriate hand gestures. You would not be surprised to find out that I have inadvertantly used one of these signs on a regular basis because I tend to talk with my hands. You will also not be surprised to know that I've decided to not be change a thing about myself.

As we giggled and chortled about learning bad words and lude gestures, I totally forgot that Charlie was sitting in the corner of the room, quietly working on his homework. Suddenly, a soft voice said, "My mom says bad words. Sometimes. Not too much, but she says them."

Laughter ensued, of course.

"She says the bad words to Daddy."

Boom. There is no recovery from something like that. Charlie owns me.

Things are looking a little brighter around here, wouldn't you say? I got a comment from a reader, using the email on the sidebar over there ==>>that both praised (she graded me an A+ overall) and complained (white writing on black background = blindness). This is what the email address is for! Complaints and Praise! I'm hoping the the complaints will remain at a minimum and as constructive. I do prefer praise, of course. My ego is rather fragile and needs the constant attention of stroking to stay strong.


Now that I know how to find my way semi-blindly around a certain design program, I'm going to try my hand at developing my own template. All my searches have come up with 0 results from the free sites, and I'm too cheap to pay the $25-$60 for a custom design. We'll see what comes of my efforts, if anything.


I am happy to report, though, that I have had a successful result from one of the pictures that I've taken. My husband read a book recently that describes how great people become great. Contrary to popular belief, the author states that prodigies do not exist. There are people who are naturally inclined to be good, but in order to break into the "GREAT" category one must stick to the task of practicing, training, researching, developing, whatever it takes for a magical number of hours. Of course, this is a coarse over-generalization of a more complex theory involving culture, timing and luck. Read the book for yourself and see what it takes. In the spirit of greatness, though, I'm determined to pick up my camera more often. I identified a fear early on. I felt afraid that I was going to look back at a lot of the pictures and think, "Those are crap! What was I thinking?" Thankfully, I have nothing to fear because exactly this thought will be the reality. No matter what happens now, it's all a learning curve and eventually I'll be looking at my pictures from a more weathered, experienced perspective. I sent a few of my attempts to a friend for some constructive criticism. He responded with grace, and didn't keep his words too soft even though I'm in the beginning stages, which I greatly appreciate (one critique used the word "sucky" at least 3 times. A friend who does that is truly a friend). With some tips bolstering my confidence, I tried out some tweaking in a special program and voila! A beautiful photo of my friend's baby. You'll have to trust me that it's awesome since I won't be posting it here in honour of the baby's privacy.

Not sure how bright my future is, but I know that for certain, in the desert, I have to wear shades anyway.

Judging by the reactions of many men around here, you'd think that a woman driving is akin to seeing a being from another planet. They stop. They stare. They hang out of windows of vehicles driving past with their mouths hanging open. Mostly, the PDI (public displays of idiocy) don't interfere in my day and can easily be ignored. Usually, my husband is around and drives me around like the princess that I am, so I don't often have to deal with the intrusive staring. However, my husband has been traveling more often of late for business and so I'm left to my own devices for getting around.

One morning, we were already running a few minutes late, and I was trying to get Charlie and Lola to school as quickly as possible. Making good time, I felt pretty good as I was slowed down to make the turn onto the last and final street (the same steep hill that took me to the anchoring wire of a previous adventure). As I turned, I saw a male pedestrian making his way across the street. My driving habits may have evolved into being more aggressive, but I still do value human life, so I slowed to a stop as I waited for him to make it out of my way. This man was looking in a different direction when I first approached, but as he became aware of my vehicle's presence in close proximity to his being, he looked first at the huge bush bar on the grill and then his eyes moved up to the driver. Distinctly, his facial expression changed when he saw that this large vehicle was being driven by a woman. His pace slowed down, so considerably did he slow that he began to move BACKWARDS. Still in my way, I wasn't able to move forward as he reached back, grabbed the wrist of his friend, and the two of them meandered across the road, and stopped in the direct center of my grill, STARING at me. I returned their gaze with a dead pan stare and then pointed with my right index finger to the sky, essentially saying, "God is watching you." Giggling between themselves, they skittered off to the side of the road and I was able to continue on my way. Inwardly, I wanted to scream, "You are grown men! Do you HAVE to behave like a juvenile who just discovered that his winky tingles?" Thankfully, I have an index finger on my right hand and I live in a culture that inherently believes in the existence of God. A God that is watching every moronic, immature move and with a slight movement of my hand, I can communicate that I know that He's there too. So, get out of my way, already!

Lola singing to herself as she gets herself a cup of water, "One day I'll step on their freckles!"

Maybe it's time to switch the Annie dvd for something else.

During our last break, my husband had some business meetings in the capital. Since the children's school was still in session and Charlie's report card had the comment, "He's a very good student but the amount of absences needs to be reduced," we decided that the three of us staying home was the better decision. My husband flew so that I could have the truck for driving the kids to school and opening up my world a bit more than 5 feet past our gate. On the first morning of my single-parenting responsibilities, I drove Charlie and Lola to school. As I was driving down the hill towards the school, I watched as a car drove into my usual parking spot. Picking a parking spot, especially at the school, is tricky because not only do I have to think about where my truck will fit with the least amount of maneuvering, but I also have to think ahead about 15 minutes. Forethought isn't a common characteristic among the general population here, so if I park my car too far into the spot, someone will inevitably park and abandon their car behind me so that I have to wait for them to return in order to leave. I have a particular spot picked out that allows me to be out of the way but at the same time giving me the advantage of not having to parked too far in towards the curb, thus avoiding being blocked in. When I saw that my beloved spot was being filled, I restrategized quickly. Living where we do, in every situation we always have a back up. We have a generator so that we don't have to wait for hours for the electricity to come back on when it's cut unexpectedly. When we go to a restaurant, we have 3 choices picked out in case our first choice is somehow not available even though it's listed on the menu. We also have a back up parking spot. Unfortunately, by the time I went through the realization to restrategy to reaction, I had advanced down the hill a bit further than necessary to make an approach into the spot smoothly. I swung out a little to make the turn into the spot, and that was when I saw the anchoring wire for the electricity pole. Unfortunately, again, I didn't see the wire until it was too late, and I had bumped into it. Trying to reverse, I saw the wire pulling and I wasn't really moving. I heard a "pop" and some girls walking past screamed out. I got out of the car, and to my dismay, I saw what had happened. When I had bumped into the wire, it had slid under my bumper and popped up behind and when I reversed, the wire, being of the sturdy, anchoring variety, held it's ground and pulled my bumper off slightly.

I may have said a bad word. Or three.

Locking the door, I took the children to their classes and immediately called my husband. He was in the taxi on his way to the airport. He hadn't even left the city limits and already I had destroyed the car. For those that know me, I have a sliiiiiight penchant for the dramatic. "I wrecked the car!" I breathed into the phone (one has to be very aware of being too obviously dramatic in public). Thinking that I had been in an accident with another car, my husband told the taxi driver to turn around. He needed to cancel his trip. When I heard him say that, I quickly clarified the situation, "There's no need to come back! I'm stuck on a wire and the bumper is kind of off, but there is no other car involved." A huge sigh of relief from the other end of the phone, my husband said, "Don't freak out. Ask the men at the gate to help you," and then, "You really need to calm down." That's when I realized I was breathing really heavily into the phone, "I'm walking up a hill! I'm not freaking out." I asked a man to help me with my car because I was stuck. "All you have to do is wait. The cars will clear out and then you can move your car." How I appreciate people thinking that my only trouble is being stuck in a traffic jam. "Umm... no. I'm stuck on a wire and I can't move my car." He got another man to come with him and they took a look at the situation. Using rocks, they made a "hill" behind the front passenger side wheel, and drove up onto it so that the wire would be able to slip out again from under the bumper. Voila! The situation was resolved. The bumper was still hanging a bit but with some elbow grease and banging of fists, it was mainly put back into place. Again I called my husband, "Everything is okay. I don't think there is really any damage except for some frayed plastic underneath. There are no bribes or fines to pay. I'm okay."

Only in the desert can my vehicular mishaps be solved by a small hill of rocks.

My apologies for the very long, dry silence. One thing that you can take to heart is that if I'm not blogging, I'm most likely living. Some things that have been occupying my time and brain space:

- Catching up on two weeks of material from my missed classes and cramming constantly for the immediate exams. I'm pleased to say that I finished the term with "Honours" and "High Honours". A much better feeling after the defeating results of the past. I'm happy to say that part of my success is due to the fact that I've discovered the my most effective studying style. To know oneself is highly empowering.

- We had a two week break from school after the exams. "Why didn't you update your blog then?" you scream. Yes, this is a good point. A lot of my time was spent rediscovering friendships, making new ones, having tea, belly dancing in front of a room full of women, spending loads of time in Arabic conversation, planning and pulling off the BEST BIRTHDAY PARTY EVER for my 8 year old Charlie, and also discovering my talents as a salsa recipe creator.

- While in paradise, a new toy was delivered to me from afar through the influence of my husband. A lovely camera that I must pay through alternative favours every time I use it since I haven't (as of yet) completed the Photoshop Classroom in a Book. I'm feeling utterly overwhelmed by this fine piece of machinery. The weight of it is wonderful and the click of the shutter is purely delicious. I will take pictures just so I can hear it. I have so much to learn and each picture I take I think, "I'm going to look back at this at some point and think how awful it is." I really have no idea what I'm doing. I do, however, have one of the best photographers at my beck and call. I just have to start the becking and calling to get this mentoring and learning on the go.

- We have hosted 3 poker nights at our house since being back from Paradise. Seeing that people play differently when they have something to lose (I may have gone "all in" on the second hand just because I was caught up in the moment), we considered a "buy-in" of $5. One of our friends was morally opposed to the use of monetary funds so we changed the buy in to physical product. The first night was chocolate. My husband won the entire pot. Delicious! The next time we had a "Sam's Club Buy In", which meant that a case of something had to be brought. My husband won again, and reclaimed the case of gross strawberry milk drink boxes that he brought as his contribution. My contribution was a box of Kit Kat Chunky, although the case of mayonnaise was a temptation, as was the large pack of toilet paper. Last night was the 3rd tournament, which was a "Pringles Buy In" and my husband won again! Throughout the game, I hissed (a word usage in honour of Stephenie Meyer because she LOVES the word 'hissed'), "You have to stop winning! We won't have any friends to play with anymore." He didn't listen to me. I was buoyed by the fact that someone else saw through is strategy as playing the "poor me" card at the beginning of the game only to turn around and rip out people's souls with his ruthless claws. He's an annoying force to be reckoned with.

- Did I mention that I made up my very own recipe for salsa? My husband reached over and held my hand during class the other day and whispered, "I love that salsa." You know it's good when the husband not only takes part in, but initiates P.D.A. Okay, maybe YOU don't know it but I do.

- Today, I'm having some friends over for tea and tomorrow morning we are meeting some new friends at the local amusement park for some family fun time. My friend's husband's childhood friend moved away last week and he's desperately lonely now. She called me two days ago and basically asked, "Can your husband come out to play?"

Now it's time to play again. I'll try not to be so quiet, though.

Which reminds me of our poker night last night. I was the last girl standing in a crowd of boys. As time went on, they seemed to forget that I was playing, all saying "Check" and the dealer burning and turning the next card while I was still reaching for my chips. After the 3rd time of being passed over, I said, "Just because I'm the last girl doesn't mean that I don't have a voice in the game!" The player next to me mumbled, "I don't think that's possible." When I have justice issues, my voice may tend to get a leeeeeeetle shrilly. I hope his ears heal.